


when your stitch comes loose

by redlight



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hockey, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magical Realism, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ritual Sex, vague eldritch hockey gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlight/pseuds/redlight
Summary: Rookie Teddy Kaminsky is in way over his head.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	when your stitch comes loose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marmolita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/gifts).



Teddy Kaminsky is in _way_ over his head.

He's a cute kid, see—twenty and just drafted, freckles over his crooked nose and the brightest green eyes Blakesley's seen on anyone in a while. Kaminsky's shy, too—face breaking out into a nervous smile as he tries to stammer his way through any press questions, arms crossed over his chest defensively, the whole team and circumstance getting him starstruck and jittery. Teddy Kaminsky, 'cause he's just a goddamn _teddy bear_ , from some farmland suburbs in Saskatchewan that no one's never heard of, with his first professional season with the Ashley Falls Banshees.

He calls his Mama at home and his older brother in rehab every day on the road. He smiles wide and waves back whenever a little kid in the crowd waves excitedly at him. He blushes to his pale ears whenever the boys clap him on the back and treat him like family, and yet—

As sweet as the kid is, as _hard_ as he's trying at being their goalie, they've still lost the past two games. And Blakesley ain't risking a third.

They haven't done this ritual in a few years—hell, even before Blakesley became captain he hardly ever heard more than rumors about it. But Teddy's—

Teddy's a sweetheart, and he needs some encouragement, and Blakesley for all he's never gone for the lore some of his peers have, well—

It's an easy decision.

And goddamn, Teddy looks a fright alone in the locker room, his uniform changed and his sweats on. He's got his hockey bag on him, resting at his feet, and the kid leans back against a bench awkwardly, though he stiffens up and sits down as soon as Blakesley enters the room.

"You let yourself in, Kaminsky?"

Teddy's eyes go river-mouth wide, greened over and watery. "I—sorry sir, I just thought—they said I could—"

Blakesley grins, feels his own Banshee teeth creep against his cobweb lips. "Just teasin', kid. C'mon, relax. I ain't gonna bite your head off."

"Uh-huh," Teddy says, and he fidgets with his hands, his fingers criss-crossing over each other, bitten-down nails picking at hangnails and skin. He's got freckles on his knuckles, too, to match with the ones on his face. Got them up his arms and his shoulders from what Blakesley's seen, catching glimpses of him in the locker room and the showers.

Teddy Kaminsky is a small town kid and it _shows._ He's a small town kid in a big league team on his first ever professional season, and gods Blakesley _knows_ how scary that can be, and yet for the life of him he can't gentle the hunger in his gut.

"The boys tell you why I called you here, Kaminsky?"

Teddy chews at his lip, his fingers flying up to his throat to wrestle with a necklace there. Little silicon-looking pendant in the shape of a circle, simple, draws Blakesley's eyes to the pale stretch of throat with one-two-three-four freckles interspaced across skin. Teddy's white as salt, sweet as sugar when he ducks his head and shrugs his shoulders. "No, captain. I mean—they said I should be prepared but I didn't really—and Kurosawa and Lyonov made some comments about, um— "

Blakesley withholds his own eye roll—Kurosawa and Lyonov can be assholes and they know it, but they don't seem to have actually gotten the message across to the kid, and it's all too easy to just take hold of Teddy's arm in his own hand, to squeeze the muscle there and feel the jump-pump-rush of bloodflow.

"We got a ritual 'round these parts. Maybe it's from folklore, maybe it's some team legend from decades ago. But listen, kid, you're a sweet boy, I know it, and I ain't gonna make this hard or mean on you, but it'll be best if you _cooperate_ too."

Teddy's brows furrow, and he instinctively pulls his arm back against Blakesley's grip—but the fact is that Blakesley's trained for years and only trained harder when he became captain, and Teddy Kaminsky is just twenty, probably ain't even done growing all the way yet. It's all too easy to pin him back against the locker room bench, pushing close to Teddy just to look him right in the eye, just to see the nervous movement of his throat.

"You a virgin, kid?"

Poor, sweet little Teddy, his green eyes worldwide and glassy all over again, and he nods with his lips pressed together. He jolts as Blakesley presses a hand into his thigh, feels the flesh through the fabric and Teddy _yelps_.

"Captain, wait, I don't get it—"

"Shit ain't right around this town, sweetheart," Blakesley says, and maybe he'd sound sorrowful if his teeth didn't ache with the urge to feast. "I'm sure you've noticed. It's for the good of the team, see—I'll be real nice and we'll all reap the benefits. And I'll make sure you enjoy it, Teddy."

" _Don't—_ " but Teddy's voice dies down far too fast, huh? He squirms in his seat as Blakesley skims his fingertips past his waistband and boxer shorts, feels the half-hard flush of his cock. Teddy whimpers and shakes his head minutely, but he quiets when Blakesley takes his jaw in his other hand and leans in to kiss him.

Poor thing—his lips are dry and cracked from so much practice on the rink. Poor thing—he shudders when Blakesley grazes his fingers across his cock, certainly jumps like a virgin as Blakesley lays his hands on the pale skin on his thighs, sparsely freckled from less sunlight exposure.

"Everything off," Blakesley instructs as sharply as he would for any training drill. Teddy's shoulders spike up to his ears and his eyes are still just so wide, such a pretty green. It's almost tragic. "C'mon, _off_."

"Captain—"

" _Get them off, Kaminsky_. I ain't fuckin' around."

Teddy whimpers low in his throat as he pushes his pants all the way down to his ankles, his arms shaking as he strips his shirt off. After a few more seconds for Blakeley's liking, Teddy is bare and his clothes are a mess at his feet, his chest flushed like his cheeks and his hands shaking as his sides.

"On the bench, Kaminsky," Blakesley says, a little more leniency in his tone. He snatches a bottle of lube from his bench drawer—just in case he needs to pull this ritual off, and it's certainly the time now.

And—fuck, Teddy's gorgeous spread out like this, huh. Blakesley knows all his boys are fit, strong, but Teddy's so new and hasn't filled out entirely yet like his older peers. He's still got a youngness in his face and he shivers as Blakesley slots himself between those pale thighs, muscle quivering under touch, and Blakesley hasn't fucked a virgin in a little too long.

"Captain," Teddy whimpers out, and it's cute, real fuckin' cute, the way his pulse jumps and his hips jerk when Blakesley presses lube-slick fingers between his ass-cheeks. Teddy's hole is sweet and small, unopened, and Blakesley has to hiss deep into his chest to keep from losing it right then and there.

"I'll make it good, baby," Blakesley soothes, and Teddy shivers as the first slick finger breaches him. His whole body tenses up and clenches tight, his hands slipping against the laminated wood of bench. It doesn't really matter at the moment—Blakesley will take what he needs to.

For the good of the team.

Teddy squirms so much it tempts Blakesley to just—he doesn't know, tempts him to force the kid over with his ass in the air and go at him rough and hard and harsh, but he just sniffles so sweet and sad that Blakesley can't dare to. He presses two, three fingers into Teddy, feels his hole twitch and writhe, watches Teddy's face distort. Cute little mouth popping open and lips bright red from effort and biting, a shy moan bursting from his throat when Blakesley pushes in just right.

"Sweetheart, sweet boy," he murmurs. "Look at you. Your cock's jumping up so pretty, huh? You really want it."

Teddy whimpers again, and his hair is starting to curl against his forehead with sweat, his chest even redder, his freckles blurring into his blush. He keeps on squirming, his ankles slipping against the bench as he tries to keep his legs spread open as wide as possible—kid's good in practice, kid follows whatever direction given, what a treat, huh? And Blakesley laughs a little, to himself, as he undoes his belt and frees his own cock. Teddy's hole is stretched enough, lube dripping down his cheeks and thighs, red and open for him.

Teddy gasps so pretty when he presses in. He's shaking his head, so soft it's almost minute, and he just moans when Blakesley starts fucking in earnest.

"Good, good boy," Blakesley murmurs, because—fuck, Teddy is tight beyond belief and he's so hot, so fucking soft as Blakesley fucks into him, his whole body shaking and jerking with every thrust. Teddy's whining louder now, and Blakesley fists his sweaty brown hair and pulls, hard, enough to make Teddy yelp aloud.

"C-captain!" Teddy's voice is loud, bounces off the walls, urges a surge of pride to Blakesley's chest. "C-captain please _please_ fuck me more, I, I—"

He gives the kid a break, wraps his fingers around that achingly pink cock resting against Teddy's stomach. Teddy wails, shaking his head back and forth, and Blakesley keeps fucking into him, hitting his nicest sweet spots until Teddy is a keening mess, coming all over his chest and making a mess of himself.

And _fuck_ , Blakesley's so hard he feels faint.

"So fuckin' cute, aren't you," he grits out, and Teddy sniffles even more, oversensitive and Blakesley doesn't feel bad enough to stop, huh. "Tempting, struttin' around like the hotshot you are, acting all obedient when I ask—you _want this_ , you're made for this, for me—"

It's a little embarrassing, probably, for Blakesley to get lost in his own words, but Teddy's trying to push his hand away from his own cock, too stimulated that his eyes are leaking tears all down those freckled cheeks, and then Blakesley really angles for his prostrate until Teddy's _wailing_ and coming _again_ and shit, Blakesley can't take it no more.

He groans and comes inside Teddy, feels Teddy's shivering and shaking and savors the aftershocks, the buzz of pleasure in his head.

"Captain?" Teddy asks weakly. "This'll work, right? It'll help us win?"

Blakesley chuckles, gruff, and presses a sloppy kiss against Teddy's forehead, feels his heartbeat jump in pulseflow and fear. "We're gonna have to do it a few more times to make sure it really works."


End file.
